let go
by gunpowder perfume
Summary: roxas/olette -- he loved her still, oh god, he loved her so much, but it was time to let go and move on.


let go  
rewrite of _goodbye_ © lunamaria  
**for lunamaria's challenge**

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it was many and many a year ago  
in a kingdom by the sea  
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Photographs decorated his wallet, photographs of him standing next to his wife, cradling a small child in her arms, the family dog wagging its tail, lying at their feet. Their radiant faces glowed in the light, eyes flashing brightly, the child gurgling and pointing at the camera. Pictures of his friends were placed carefully in the photo pockets. Memories that couldn't be replaced, memories could never be replaced.

And then there was this picture. Tucked away deep in his wallet was a torn photograph, taped back together through the middle, weather worn to the extent the two people in it were barely recognizable. One would wonder why a respectable man like him would keep a picture so old and tattered.

It was of a girl, sixteen to seventeen years in age, smiling without a care in the world, clinging onto the arm of a boy just around her age. When one looks carefully at the boy, you could recognize him to be the man that owned the wallet. They smiled at the camera, carefree, unbothered smiles that made him ponder upon what might have been.

She always wore the same smile, no matter how painful it would be, no matter what happened, he remembered. Glassy, pensive eyes that cried, laughed, and boiled with anger, no matter what the occasion would be, her emotions were seen through her eyes.

Those green eyes looked back at him from the photograph, bringing back the memories, the precious little reminders he clung onto so dearly. The only things he had left of her, the girl with beautiful emerald eyes and a blissful smile.

Shall we take a trip down memory lane?

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but we loved with a love that's more than love--  
i and my annabel lee  
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Everything started in high school. She sat in front of him and he would stare at the back of her head everyday for homeroom until he memorized it. Even so, they never talked, only exchanging curt words, vague conversations because it was necessary.

He wanted to talk to her, to get closer to her; you could say he was obsessed with her, with this girl he had never even had a proper conversation to. But no, he wasn't obsessed or a stalker, he was simply in love with her, that's all.

He would wait in the corner as she turned, and run into her by 'accident', helping her with her books and papers and whatever he had knocked down by colliding with her. Cherished those tiny little moments where their hands touched as he passed papers to her.

The next year of high school he was lucky enough to have her in the same homeroom again, but unlike the previous year, they started having conversations. During the year, they were voted as homeroom representatives and the student council put them in charge of the winter festival.

It had been so perfect, talking and laughing as they planned what to do for the festival. Nothing could ruin the moments, nothing but, of course, an unplanned kiss. That kiss led to hugs, handholding, notes of affection slipped into his locker, and sweet little nothings whispered into her ear.

Finally, when he had plucked up the courage to ask her out, the world couldn't be brighter. It was then he realized just how much he loved her, and how much she loved him in return. Things were so perfect, perfect to the point it was fragile.

So fragile it was like _death_.

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a wind blew out of a cloud by night  
chilling my annabel lee  
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The next year, again she was in his homeroom, sitting in front of him. Yet she was different, changed in some way. She was paler; her eyes stopped glowing under the light as they should. Something was wrong, he knew it, and went to ask her.

_I'm sick._ Those two words escaped her lips when he confronted her, a sad smile hung on her face. He sincerely hoped she just meant it was the cold, or she had a fever, so she couldn't eat properly. But it wasn't. It was much, much worse. _It's cancer._ Maybe he was just a bit foolish, but he suddenly hoped she meant her astrology sign (though he knew by heart she was born on February seventh, an Aquarius).

It hurt as he let it sink in, his mind letting her point go through, but he didn't cry. His heart was all too numb with pain to cry right now. Instead, he forced a small, comforting smile onto his face and intertwined her fingers with his; silently hoping it would all end up alright.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he refused to acknowledge, or even mention her sickness. He went about their days as usual, cuddling and supporting her, pushing the very thought of cancer to the dark depths of his mind. That strategy didn't work as soon as the chemotherapy began.

She couldn't go to school anymore; they kept her in the hospital, under the white sheets, making her look even smaller and paler than she already was. Her hair began to fall out, thin wisps that fell down her shoulders whenever he wrapped his arms around her frail body. Long locks of her chestnut brown hair would stay on her pillow when she rose up to greet any visitors.

By the time a week passed, there was nothing left of her hair; a shiny bald patch replaced the once familiar back of her head where he had often stared at in school. _It's alright if you don't love me, I'm ugly._ She whispered, forcing back tears.

His mind went completely blank; shocked that she would actually say that. She was beautiful, and he loved her, so he made sure he knew. Kissing her head, he would wipe away her tears and whisper, _I love you the way you are._ She would giggle and hiccup slightly.

He believed that she was getting better, she seemed to be by each passing day, seemingly less pale compared to the day before, but she wasn't. Things were about to get much, much worse.

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that the wind came out of a cloud,  
chilling and killing my anabel lee  
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When she coughed he saw scarlet red against white. As time dragged on, it grew harder and harder to dismiss the fact that she wasn't getting better. Only worse, it had gotten to the extent he had started to cry. He could no longer fight the tears that wanted to come out, threatened to spill.

They would cry holding each other, laugh in an attempt to forget what was going on, and pretend everything was alright, no cracks, no pain, pretend that there was no need for tears. Sometimes though, they knew they couldn't continue playing pretend like this.

It was about time to face reality, cold, hard reality.

The first thing he saw when he stepped into the hospital that faithful day, walked over to her ward, he remembered seeing the doctor with her head against the wall, offering him a sad smile. He burst through the door to find her parents crying, her mother heaving heavy sobs into her father's shoulder.

She lay there, paler than the sheets and walls around her, eyes closed, they had taken away the wire they had hooked on her. Frantically, he grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking, pleading, demanded her to wake up, smile, open her eyes for him, and tell him it was alright.

That didn't happen. Her parents had patted his back, and her father put one arm around his shoulder, telling him to be strong, her mother whispered words of comfort that he couldn't hear as they guided him out of the hospital.

His heart cracked, they couldn't do what they had planned. Couldn't have the kids they wanted, or buy the house they had set their sights on one day when driving around the neighborhood. They couldn't do anything they wanted to do.

It seemed almost like a dream, a bad dream that he could just wake up from. Wake up and she would still be alive, and smiling at him. Reality set in though, and he knew it wasn't a dream. It was cold, hard reality. And he knew, he knew that he could no longer see the girl that always sat in front of him in homeroom, who's back of the head he had memorized.

She was the first person he loved, the most beautiful person he had ever known, and forever it would stay that way.

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but our love it was stronger far than the love  
of those who were older than we--  
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Now in the present, he smiled, looking up at a baby blue house with a neatly trimmed lawn. The house they had been looking at that day during the cruise through the neighborhood, he had bought it.

"Roxas, what are you doing?" A woman laughed, beckoning him from the front porch. "Come on, we have a lot of things to do." He smiled, laughing along. "Honey, the baby wants daddy." She only nodded this time, sensing that he still needed some time for himself, and retreated inside the house.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. "Goodbye, Orette." He loved her still, oh god, he loved her so much, but he knew she would want him to move on. And the first thing to do was to let go of her.

* * *

**foot-notes:** i hope i didn't butcher your wonderful story too much, lunamaria. being the cheater i am, this is loren's christmas gift. i was going to write you a seifette, but, yeah. i'm sorry! pssh, merry christmas!

original idea + text © lunamaria  
characters © square enix & disney  
poem 'anabel lee' © edgar allan poe  
current text © waraenai


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